He settled his hand on her knee and squeezed gently. “You love her.”
She sighed. “Of course I love her. I just don’t understand her. At all.”
Emile shot her a half-smile. “I don’t suppose she understands you, either.”
Theresa gave a laugh. “No, I’m sure she doesn’t. Where are we going?”
He named the top Michelin-starred restaurant in London. She raised her eyebrows at him. “I hope you’re taking me home to change first.”
“No need, chérie. I have clothes for you.” He indicated the bags stuffed behind their seats, glossy bags with labels that even Theresa recognized. Bags that had come from the most exclusive and expensive designers in London. “We will be photographed, so I thought you’d prefer something new.”
For half a second, she considered letting it go. This was supposed to be their wedding night, after all, and she wanted to enjoy it. But she couldn’t let him think it was okay.
“I won’t wear them. I told you before, you don’t get to make those choices for me. Either you take me home, or I’ll wear this.” She gestured to the jeans and sweater she’d worn for the match.
“They won’t let you in wearing that.”
She shrugged. “Not my problem.”
“We haven’t time for you to go home and change.”
“Where did you suppose I’d be putting those on?” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the designer bags. “In the ladies’ loos? Or perhaps wriggling into them in the car?”
“My flat. It’s on the way, unlike yours.”
“You know, if you’d told me beforehand, I could have brought a dress with me.”
“If I’d told you beforehand, it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”
“Well, here’s a surprise, I’m not wearing those.”
“You haven’t even seen them yet.”
“You don’t even know my size,” she said.
He gave her a look that told her he remembered exactly what size she was. All over.
She shook her head in despair. “I can’t believe I’m with a man who understands women’s dress sizes.”
He laughed. “I’ve had some practice, chérie.”
“That’s not something to boast about.”
“Come.” He slid his car deftly into the parking space and reached behind to pick up the bags. “At least look, hm?”
She followed him up to the flat, trying not to think about what had happened the last time they’d been in that lift together. This time she would not be ripping off his clothes the instant the door was shut.
He let her in and she stalked past him. She set her handbag on the coffee table and folded her arms defiantly.
“I won’t wear it.”
He dropped the bags and came towards her. “You know, Thérèse,” he whispered with his mouth close to her ear, “right now, I don’t care if you don’t wear anything at all.”
She shivered. Not with cold. And she knew he felt it, damn him.
Then he kissed her, just a press of his lips at the corner of her mouth, while his hands slid upward under her thick sweater.
“I don’t think, uh, they’ll let me in to the restaurant if I’m not wearing anything at all.”
“Good point.” He kissed her again, and this time his hands were on the button of her jeans, and she was pushing them down over her hips and then pulling him back to press against him hard. He broke away to lift her sweater over her head and kick his shoes off. She grabbed handfuls of his shirt and tugged hard until she’d dragged it over his head and caught his arms in the cuffs. She reached up and pressed his wrists against the wall, trapping him with her body.
“I’m still angry.” And she didn’t want to let him off the hook just because of his self-deprecating smile and the sexy little gleam in his eyes.
“Because I bought you clothes that most women would kill for?” Every line of his finely muscled body showed that his own anger was barely repressed. Theresa leaned even closer in.
“Because you didn’t listen to me.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m listening now.”
“I’m not Prada. Or any of the other women you’ve had before who you could seduce with a simple equation of designer dress plus top restaurant.”
Something flashed across his eyes, and she knew she’d scored a hit. “I’ve never met a woman like you,” he said.
“No, I don’t suppose you have.”
He tilted his head slightly and gave a twisted smile. “I think I could get to like it.”
Theresa relaxed her grip on his wrists slightly and leaned back. “I think I could get to like you, too.”
Emile pulled his hands down effortlessly. He could overpower her in a second, but he’d let her take control when she’d needed it. She helped him free his hands from the shirtsleeves and then she found herself with her back against the wall. Emile rested one arm over her head and bent to kiss her.
Anger dissipated into desire at the feel of his lips against hers. He invaded her mouth, and she wanted more. Her hands roved over his gloriously formed body, all hard muscle and dark tattoo, clenched nipple and soft hair. Oh God, he had his hand down her knickers.
And there, quite unmistakably, the metal of his wedding band was rubbing against her clit, and it was possibly the most erotic thing that had ever happened to her. She bit her lip and gripped the remnants of his shirt. She needed something to cling on to while her body went spinning into orbit. But he wouldn’t let her. His hand came down to grasp one of hers and bring it towards him, so that she was stroking him through the soft canvas of his trousers, matching her rhythm to his. Her breath, her heartbeat, the pulse that throbbed under his touch, the caress of his tongue inside her mouth…the whole world hit its resonant frequency and then, when the pressure reached some invisible threshold, collapsed and shattered. She fell against Emile, letting the shocks run through her, take her, break her.
“God, that was good,” she told him, when she finally managed to articulate words out of the mess he’d made of her mind.
He grinned. “My pleasure, chérie.”
“But not yours.” Her hand was still over his crotch and she could feel him, rock hard, through the thick fabric.
“There’s still time.”
“Didn’t you mention something about dinner?” She was supposed to be angry with him about that, but it was hard when her mind was still blown and his hand was still rubbing soft circles against the skin just above her waistband.
“I’ll call for something to be delivered,” he muttered.
“I like that plan.” She slid her hand down his chest until her fingers brushed against his fly. “But not just yet, hmm?”
“We should talk about how this is going to work.”
“A year of great sex, I think we said.” Emile winked at her. She was fun to tease, especially when she was doing her lawyer thing. And especially when she was doing her lawyer thing lounging semi-naked on the soft rugs in his sitting room.
She gave him a stern look. “I don’t normally sleep with the same guy for more than a few weeks.”
“Why not?” He offered her the red curry with prawns, but she shook her head and indicated he should have it.
“I get bored. And I’m not interested in any of the emotional baggage.”
Was she for real? “That makes it hard to have a relationship.”